My gender performance: Ohio 1978

(Springfield, Ohio—1978)

Scrolling Facebook last night, I saw myself 43-years-ago, grinning from an event post for a drag show that happened last week. It spoke to me about history.

There were, in the 1970s, tiny, shadowy bars in seedy neighborhoods of midwestern towns where it felt safe to be me. With my best friend and partner in deviance, I learned to perform my gender. Rock and I felt like soul mates when we bonded in high school. Seconds after graduation, we were pushing into the unknown of adulthood with fierce determination to break the small town chains that held us back from our dreams.

Saturday nights, Rock and I would go out into the world, and declare our freedom. Rock, shimmering lips and eyes, dancing in delicate tunics that feminized his sharp angles. Me, bristling, mustachioed, in rolled up flannel sleeves and a bandana flagged out of my jeans.

For drinks and tips, but mostly for the feeling, we interpreted Linda Ronstadt and Bruce Springsteen anthems of life and love, loneliness and defiance. Rock's stage name was Linda, and I was Peter. There were intimations of a hidden lineage and sexual codes we barely grasped. If we hadn't been studying theatre we would have had no map at all. We definitely didn't advertise our appearances publicly. This happened in a tight-knit, word-of-mouth, closed circuit of clandestine after-hours venues.

Our fellow taverners, mostly white and working class, were like anyone in the rest of our lives, except that they were also like us. What drew us together was mutual longing and abjection; finding a pocket of air between the ice and the suffocating water of heteronormative disingenuousness. A moment to breath before diving back down. And even that moment, never guaranteed nor free from peril. Stepping out the door into the parking lot could get you bashed. And did.

The need to be and to be connected compelled us.

The fresh, cocky gaze of the young drag artists performing today in Tacoma sparked something in me last night. In their glorious style, they reflect intentionality, humor, and truth, which is the heart of drag. They represent today and point toward tomorrow in the history of queer culture and in the history of our expanding, evolving whole society; a measure of progress, promise and beautiful survival. 















  


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